


you just wanted to prove there was one safe place where you could love them

by behradtarazi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Gen, Happy Ending, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Leia the Mighty One, POV Darth Vader, POV Leia Organa, Parent Darth Vader, Tatooine Slave Culture, Time Skips, but it fits w vader's general lack of fucks i think, my judgement of angst is truly fucked so please tell me how sad this is, obi wans death is a copout im SORRY, pt is canon but the ot takes a wild turn, sorta????, the skywalkers are dysfunctional but it can't be said that they don't love each other, vader raises luke and leia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behradtarazi/pseuds/behradtarazi
Summary: Her father is a dark figure hidden behind layers and layers of machinery who is not home very often and builds them droids to watch over them and speaks with emotionless grating recordings. Her father is a dark figure hidden behind layers and layers of machinery who is sharply funny and fiercely clever and impossibly gentle with his hands built for killing.She knows he’s not a good man.-Five years after the rise of the Empire, Darth Vader finds a holocron with a very recent list of the names of every Force sensitive child in the Galaxy, and on it are two simple words that will change his life, for better or for worse: Luke Skywalker.(Distantly, he notes, the Organa brat is also marked down, but right now he is certain he has other things to worry about.)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 199





	you just wanted to prove there was one safe place where you could love them

**Author's Note:**

> Tatooine slave culture references to the word "depur" and the idea behind Luke and Leia's names (Luke being taken from lukka/the word for free and Leia being a reference to Leia the Mighty One) is from fialleril on Tumblr!

The mechanical rasp of Vader’s breathing does not falter, does not stumble, even as his mind whirls and races at lightspeed, disbelief and memory and too-familiar rage all clashing together. It would almost be soothing, the repetitive in and out, the unwavering background noise grounding him to reality, if it wasn’t for the pain that comes with it. The fires of Mustafar left their mark on Vader. The burn never ceases, not even for a heartbeat.

_Luke Skywalker._

_Skywalker._

_~~Son.~~ _

Palpatine said that the child had died along with Padmé, that Vader had killed them, that he had - _Palpatine lied_ , he thinks distantly, unable to muster up any hint of surprise. _He lied_.

As quickly as the thought forms, another comes to push it down, to crush the dissent before it can become something foolish, like disobedience or hope. He serves the Emperor. He serves the Empire. He follows orders. He always follows orders. He must listen to his Master. He must report back to his Master. _Master will be interested to hear of the Force sensitive children. They may be useful to him._

Even as the cold correctness of the words sinks in, Vader is already on his way to Tatooine. Because the boy _is_ there. He is sure of it. The idea reeks of Kenobi’s casual, perfected cruelty. And who would do this if not Kenobi?

From the moment Vader steps out of his ship and onto the sand, he grows more powerful in the Dark Side. The rage that burns in him, usually so steady and familiar, sparks and grows, almost overwhelming. And maybe, a lifetime ago, it _would_ have overwhelmed Anakin Skywalker, weak Jedi Knight, would have made him fall to his knees with the memory of his mother and his childhood, would have made him question if there was any good in him, really. If the Council had been right.

Darth Vader is no Anakin Skywalker. 

He is so furious that his head spins, and he would smile, if he could, if his mask would let his burned skin stretch into the movement.

He reaches out into the Force, and sees them immediately: flares in the Light, burning brighter than any other being on this forsaken hellhole. One is painfully familiar, but dimming; the other, a small sun, aching with _home_.

_Skywalker._

_Skywalker._

_Skywalker._

_Luke._

He remembers why Anakin had liked that name for a boy. Remembers Padmé’s delight with it, even now, the way her eyes had lit up like twin stars. _(“It comes from your word for free? Oh, Ani, that would be perfect for him!”)_ She was beautiful. She was so beautiful.

Anakin had loved her. He would love her still, if he was alive.

Vader...Vader doesn’t exactly know what love is. But he thinks, in a distant, hazy way, that he loves her, too, with every inch of his mechanical heart. Padmé hurts. The thought of Padmé hurts. The boy feels like her in the Force, he slowly realizes. That burns with the heat of a thousand lightsabers, and Vader stands frozen still for a moment, silhouette harsh and unmoving, rasping breaths unhalting - mind on _fire_. Then, he keeps walking. One foot in front of the other. Over and over again. He’s itching to hold his lightsaber, longing for the comforting weight of it in his hand, and he gets his chance soon enough.

He finds Kenobi’s hut. 

He ignites his saber a moment later, red blaze reflecting on his mask, and he doesn’t have to say a word for Kenobi to come out and meet him with his own blade at the ready. He looks - old, already. Tired and worn out. There is endless sadness in his eyes.

It only serves to make Vader more furious.

For a very long time, Vader has felt nothing for Kenobi. Simply nothing at all. An empty, brother shaped void in his chest where Anakin Skywalker’s love and hatred and faith and mistrust had once been, where Anakin Skywalker’s _passion_ had once been. But now. But now. Kenobi looks weak, and Vader is furious, and the only thing he has to say with the careful neutrality of his voice modulator is hell frozen over, world-shaking rage barely contained - “You took my son from me.”

( _My son_ , comes a quiet voice unbidden, a quiet voice that sounds awfully like Anakin Skywalker. _My son. Mine. Padmé’s._

For once, Vader has trouble pushing him aside.)

He is sure that Kenobi has some cool reply, some insult or some taunt, but he can’t bring himself to care, lightsaber already swinging, mind already reaching out, latching onto Kenobi’s fear in the Force. Fear of what? Fear of what? Not of Vader. Kenobi pushes back, trying to clear his head, but Vader has old bonds laid bare, catches a blinding flurry of images before his walls slam closed.

A little boy who must be Luke, Bail Organa - _Organa’s daughter is Force sensitive_ , he reminds himself, _they must be colluding to keep her from the Inquisitors_ \- holding a child, two babies side by side, Luke, two babies, Padmé, Padmé with two babies, Padmé, Padmé, _Padmé_ \- 

Vader takes a step back, lightsaber nearly falling from his hands, and Kenobi looks like a man who has witnessed his greatest failure as he is shoved back with a blow of the Force.

“Twins.”

“Anakin -“

He reaches out with the Force and crushes Kenobi’s lungs inside his chest, and feels nothing but anger and simple satisfaction as he watches him lose his voice and fall to the ground. 

“Twins,” he says again, with no inflection, feeling how the word fits in his mouth, fits in his heart. “Twins.” Vader has a son and a daughter. Anakin Skywalker had a son and a daughter. The line between the two is quietly starting to blur. The Force hums, something mournful, something hopeful in the desert air. 

He should bring them back to the Emperor.

A long dead part of him is remembering that he _hates_ the Emperor. A long dead part of him is finding something else worth fighting for.

Vader has never had a family. Anakin Skywalker did. That might be his only envy of Skywalker. His family and his love and his freedom. The galaxy cannot deny him this. He will not let it. He turns resolutely, and makes his way to the Lars farm.

Leia Naberrie grows up in Cloud City with her brother Luke by her side.

Her father is a dark figure hidden behind layers and layers of machinery who is not home very often and builds them droids to watch over them and speaks with emotionless grating recordings. Her father is a dark figure hidden behind layers and layers of machinery who is sharply funny and fiercely clever and impossibly gentle with his hands built for killing. 

She knows he’s not a good man. She’s seen the news reports. Luke’s friend Lando has told her all about the Empire and the Sith called Vader. The Force has shown her what the Light feels like and what the Dark feels like, too. 

And somehow, she still loves him. Not with Luke’s bright devotion, but she still loves him. She doesn’t know any other family to love. She doesn’t want to know any other family to love. Hers is little and imperfect and filled up with too many unsaid things and she loves them. She loves them. She loves Luke and the man who sometimes answers to Anakin Skywalker.

When Leia is sixteen, she wakes up drowning in the Dark Side, and a stormtrooper kicks down her front door. There is a purple lightsaber underneath her pillow and a blue lightsaber underneath Luke’s, and the first time he cuts through a man, her brother almost throws up, but Leia stands there with blood splattered onto her face and does not flinch. She does not flinch. She can’t afford to.

(In a very far away place, Obi Wan Kenobi turns to Qui Gon Jinn and says, _She has too much of her father in her._

In a not-so far away place, Darth Vader had been standing in the same stance she does now as his troops turned on him.)

“Leia Skywalker,” says a voice that she has only heard in propaganda reels and her father’s nightmares, “Luke Skywalker. Vader’s treachery is...predictable. He is weak.”

“He’s the Chosen One,” Luke fires back, with so much faith. She’s never known anybody who believes as unwaveringly as her twin does. “He’ll kill you!”

Darth Sidious laughs. Emperor Palpatine laughs. _Depur_ laughs. All three are one and the same, and they laugh, and Leia - Leia learns that there is a place beyond the anger where the galaxy is cold. She watches with keen-eyed clarity and icy fury and when the Sith Lord says, “Vader is dead. You will join me,” she is silent.

“I’ll never join you,” Luke replies, head held high and defiance. “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

Once, her father told her the story of her name. He told her about Leia the Mighty One, the One Who Walks In the Wastes, She Who Fears Nothing, the Earthshaker, the Deathbringer. She asked him if Leia brought death or if she brought freedom, and it was Vader who said, monotone emptier than usual, that death and freedom can be one and the same, if you are in chains.

Leia has never been in chains. Leia will never be in chains. That is her father’s greatest wish for her, and she will see it through.

When Leia attacks, it is with all the strength and ferocity of the great krayt she is named for. The speed of her purple blade would make Mace Windu proud, and she slices through Sidious’ hand, mind going back to the lessons her father taught her, trying to ignore how _good_ this feels. Sidious howls, and the lightning only comes from one hand but it is fierce. It is fierce, and Leia has to take a step back to catch it with her saber - and then Luke steps up beside her, his lightsaber right next to her own, and it’s a little easier to breathe again. It’s a little easier to breathe.

For all of her idealism, she can’t pretend that she thinks this will go well. She can’t pretend that she thinks this will go well. 

They all have to die some day. She would be okay with going out like this. Her brother by her side, clinging to the light, going down swinging, punching up. She would be okay with going out like this. She just hopes she doesn’t burn. She has inherited trauma, and she just hopes she doesn’t burn.

With a mental count of three, Leia and Luke shove violently back at Sidious with the Force, lightning reflected onto him, and the first spike of fear comes as he bats it aside like it’s nothing.

The second comes as, all of a sudden, the Dark Side seems to grow around them, shifting and expanding, a surprising rush of _angerhatredlovefearangerhatred._

In the darkness, a red light burns, shoved through Palpatine’s back, and it is with a regicide - no, it is with a reach for freedom, a breaking of chains, that Anakin Skywalker tells the galaxy that Darth Vader may be dead, but he is not. He is not. He is not.

Leia doesn’t know where they go from here, staring over a monster’s body at the machine that is no longer a machine that is her father. 

But that’s okay. That’s okay.

She has her family. And it is little and imperfect and filled up with too many unsaid things and she loves them. She loves them.


End file.
